


Merry Christmas, Lord Beelzebub!

by EdnaV



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Banter, Christmas Fluff, Christmas fic, Crowley's ideas backfire, Fluff, Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), or at least you can read it as queerplatonic, the author has Opinions on conceptual art, they're absolutely married anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdnaV/pseuds/EdnaV
Summary: Crowley’s “Christmas gift” to Lord Beelzebub backfires. Maybe.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 32
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Merry Christmas, Lord Beelzebub!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassieoh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassieoh/gifts), [D20Owlbear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/gifts).



> My first Christmas fic! I imagined it with a queerplatonic relationship in book canon, but you can read it any way you want.
> 
> The [“Fourth Plinth” of Trafalgar Square](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fourth_plinth,_Trafalgar_Square) is used to display a contemporary work of art for about two years. [The current one](https://www.london.gov.uk/what-we-do/arts-and-culture/current-culture-projects/fourth-plinth-trafalgar-square/whats-fourth-plinth-now) features a big fly.
> 
> I often like conceptual art. Not always.
> 
> Dedicated to Megan and Jam, who had to put up with all my rambling about London while writing their amazing human AU, [_The Mathematical Improbability of Reaching the Stars._](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21742480)
> 
> Beta'd by Alli and Mehrto, supported by the Good Omens FF Bookclub. Merry Christmas, happy holidays, everyone.

“Angel, I feel guilty as sin. And before you point out the obvious — it’s a figure of speech.”

Aziraphale smiled, and while not lifting his eyes from the binding of his new Turkish first edition of _Paradise Lost,_ he ostensibly tried to comfort Crowley.

“I actually don’t see why you should feel guilty, my dear,” he said. “It looks to me like we’re having a victory-victory scenario.”

“It’s _win-win_ scenario, and this is _not_ one,” groaned Crowley. “Fine, Beez has sent me a bonus because ze thinks that _installation_ is my gift to zem for Christmas. ‘A statue with _my symbol_ in Trafalgar Square! And it’s _conceptual!_ So many people hate it!’” He made a gesture that could’ve been a fangirl at a concert or an old lady fainting just before clutching her pearls. “Last time I’d seen someone that ecstatic, it was on the Saint Theresa job![1] But now ze’s going to expect a Christmas present every year, and it’s impossible to come up with anything better than that statue. Or worse. Or, you know.”

“I thought you already had some kind of gift exchange, what with consumerism and capitalism being one of yours...” said Aziraphale, carefully running his gloved hand along the spine of the old tome.

“We’ve only got the compulsory shopping in the overcrowded Hellspawn of Lush and Hamleys on Saturday 23rd December.” Crowley glared — a glare completely lost on the angel, whose eyes weren’t leaving his dear Milton. “And I’d like to point out that I only took credit for capitalism. I didn’t invent it.”

“I stand corrected.”

“But here... just the potential ripple effect of this tiny misunderstanding on every cog in the Infernal Bureaucratic Apparatus is...” His face turned white. “...oh, for Satan’s sake.”

“Did you just realise that _you_ are one of the aforementioned cogs?”

“Yesss.” Another realisation dawned. “When you called this a ‘win-win scenario’, angel... did you mean it for _me_ or for _you_?”

The angel finally looked at him, smiling angelically. Crowley put his hands in his hair.

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” he asked.

“I might, from time to time, make some jest about this incident; I hope you won’t mind, my dear.”

Crowley sighed.

“That artist’s life is over. I’m going to tempt everyone around her into... Satan, I’m so mad that I can’t even imagine what I will do. But I will do _something._ Do you think that a delay on the Northern Line every time she’s late... No, wait, that’s the default.”

Aziraphale took pity. He set aside his book for good and even took off his gloves.

“I’m sure you’re going to find a solution.” He went to sit on the sofa next to Crowley. “I see all the humans who try to shop for presents _here, in the bookshop_ — can you imagine the gall? — and they still find something after I’ve managed to get rid of them!”

Crowley sighed again, louder, a desperate look on his face.

“How does it work at yours?” he asked, the face of a demon who’d sign a treaty with the Metatron to get out of his current situation.

Aziraphale put on his standard _I-don’t-like-to-defend-Upstairs-but-you’re-asking-for-it_ face.

“Christmas? We have only one standard card, to avoid any appearance of favouritism, leaving us more time to concentrate on our Angelic Duties.”

Crowley’s eyes brightened.

“Come again? _‘To avoid...’”_

Aziraphale worried that the conversation might degenerate into a debate on the merits of their employers and decided to take the high road. “Well, of course angels are by nature impartial, but...”

“Exactly. _Angels_ are.”

“Of course, I understand that for you...” Any trace of smugness melted like a snowman in a particularly hot circle of Hell. “Oh, good Lord.”

Crowley was beaming with excitement.

“Yes. Christmas. Presents. Competition! Beez as the judge, so ze has fun. Dagon deals with the bureaucracy, so _they_ have fun. And being the one who suggested it, I’m not even allowed entry to the contest — to avoid any appearance of favouritism.”

Aziraphale glared at him, a glare that was _not_ lost on Crowley.

_“To avoid any appearance of favouritism?”_

“Do you really think _your_ side invented that phrase?”

“Fair point.”

They looked at each other, smiling. Crowley tilted his head and punched the air, whispering a soft _yessss._

“If Beez gives me another bonus,” he said, “you choose: the Ritz or Le Gavroche. Come to think of it, we do both whether I get it or not — you just choose which one’s first. Christmas present.”

Aziraphale’s mind started comparing menus, but he chose to be generous.

“That’s just lovely, dear—” he said, “but I’ll leave the decision to you. Now, would you like me to bless that artist?”

“You know, angel... that would be a wonderful Christmas present.”

### Footnotes

1. Crowley sometimes took Aziraphale’s blessing assignments a bit too enthusiastically.↩

**Author's Note:**

> Make me a Christmas gift... leave a comment!


End file.
